


No Drugs Bust

by A_Study_In_Johnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: (Hinted at too), (hinted at), Bottom Sherlock, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Canon Divergence - A Study in Pink, Deductions, John’s Chair, M/M, Making Out, Mild S&M, Past John Watson/Major James Sholto, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Teasing, Top John, Top John Watson, Versatility, Voice Kink, Which doesn’t last long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:20:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25831219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Study_In_Johnlock/pseuds/A_Study_In_Johnlock
Summary: "John was feeling a little overwhelmed that this was actually happening. Strange timing, but it was hitting him: this moment was perfect and he never used the word. He could stay here forever with Sherlock and that overwhelmed him the most—what had Sherlock done to him?Absolutely nothing, intentionally. Everything, accidentally.”
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 106





	No Drugs Bust

**Author's Note:**

> Been rewatching Sherlock, so this is my take on what could have happened after John and Sherlock run after the taxi and come home to John’s surprise and Sherlock’s drug bust.  
> Hope you enjoy!

“So what were we doing there?” John inquired with heavy, heaving breaths, against the wall next to Sherlock who was equally lost of breath, looking at the man smirking.

“Oh, just passing the time,” Sherlock said casually, lightly, until he threw in, “proving a point.”

A knock rapped on the door, throwing John off, only meeting Sherlock’s answering grin when John’s head swerved around to look back at him, out of confusion.

John started towards the door and swung it open to reveal Angelo. John was confused and he almost asked what the owner was doing on their stoop until, “Sherlock texted me! He said you forgot this:” John’s cane. He stopped for a second and it finally hit him that he’d just ran around several blocks of London (and some rooftops too) without the use of his cane.

His jaw dropped and it took him a moment to take it back from Angelo like it was a paralysing reminder of everything his therapist had said versus everything Sherlock and even his arch nemesis had said; John’s hand unconsciously fell to his leg. 

How did they know?

“Thank you,” John told the man who met him with a nod and a warm smile as he turned to leave.

“You two have a good night!” He called over his shoulder, falling into the crowd of passerby’s.

John looked down at the cane in awe and turned to go back into the house. 

Sherlock was waiting for him, smirk still in place. “Shall we? I’m sure Mrs. Hudson’s already started a fire, we can get warm from our run.”

John followed him, still awe-struck with another feeling he hadn’t felt in a  _ long  _ time, way before he was invalided. 

Sure enough, they found the fireplace alit. Sherlock took out his phone, thumb making quick clicks, eyes washing against the screen at an inhuman speed. John laid his cane against the arm of his chair and sunk into the cushion, sighing heavily. He removed his shoes in a slow, lazy manner as the sound of Sherlock’s phone clicking off sounded through the quiet room, save for the cracklings flames.

Sherlock matched him in his seating, only tossing one leg over another as he pressed his fingers together, balancing his chin onto his fingertips.

John watched him, infatuated, but didn’t say anything. Sherlock’s sharp iridescent eyes suddenly landed on him and a small pouch formed between his eyebrows as his eyes flittered along John’s face and body.

John let him, wanted the man to read everything he wasn’t saying, like that phone.

“You’re appreciative, placement of your cane against the chair shows you’d rather put it in a place you can see it: like a trophy. Shocked. It’s all in your eyes, but the rising and falling of your chest signifies the shock still coursing through you at your therapist being wrong. The fact that you never needed it at all.”

_ There’s always something,  _ John thought. Sherlock had called everything—except one: John’s sudden craving for the man, that the words expressed earlier at Angelo’s weren’t meaning much.

The fire crackled and that caught John's attention. Apparently that caught Sherlock’s attention. 

“John.” The way he said it—low, dragging—sultry?—caused John’s eyes to snap over to Sherlock’s. He knew he was caught.

"You’re shocked, yes. But the rising and falling of your chest is heavy. We’ve been sitting for two minutes now, so if it’s from the running or the shock, it should have slowed down. No…” Sherlock’s eyes suddenly grew sharper, eyes narrowed, like he really wanted to be sure. “Your pupils are dilated, leg crossed over the other—which, could be nothing, but brings me back as to why the serotonin levels in your brain have not gone back down to regular levels after three minutes. You’re...aroused. Turned on.”

John was thrown into silence. He didn’t know what else he could say—Sherlock was completely right, so where did that leave them? 

Sherlock suddenly got up and, for a scary moment, John thought he’d caused the man to leave the room, but, no, Sherlock circled him with his arms held behind his back, slowly rounding him, observing.

“No denial, but you’ve not left either.” He ended up in front of John, leaning down so they were eye to eye. “So what do you want, John?”

John choked on his words for a second, then found himself wetting his lips, watching Sherlock’s eyes follow his tongue until they met eyes again. 

“I...want...you.”

Sherlock pulled back to stand up straight, inhaling sharply, as his mouth quirked up. 

“Don’t move.” Sherlock ordered and then took off. John didn’t watch him, arms starting to shake and heart pounding as he realised Sherlock _hadn’t_ _said_ _no._

He could hear Sherlock moving around far behind him. So in his room, then. Suddenly, steps came towards him, then out the door and down the stairs. John heard the front door open, a short moment passed, then the door closed, and the footsteps came back up, revealing takeout Sherlock had purchased for dinner.

“Dinner?” Sherlock inquired, stepping around to sit across from him.

“Starving,” John answered, which got him a bright smile that completely disarmed him. Sherlock caught that too and tilted his head to the side in a very un-Sherlock fashion. 

“John, will you allow me to do something for a moment?”

_ Anything,  _ John almost said, but he’d come to know how Sherlock could be and just nodded. Sherlock got to his feet, placed the takeout bag onto his chair, and the next proceedings made John’s cock throb.

Sherlock, after he stood, pulled his blazer off, folding it, and placing it over the back of his chair. John hadn’t even thought about touching his food. Sherlock undid the cuffs to his shirt, placed those on the fireplace, and rolled his sleeves up, eyes never leaving John’s, and vice versa.

When his sleeves were rolled up, Sherlock removed his shoes, placing them in front of John’s, and then did the same thing he did earlier: he leaned forward, bracing his hands on the arms of John’s chair. 

His eyes were slightly focused, yet something about them very unfocused. John had seen the man in deep thought, deductions flying out of his mouth like lighting, yet...the man did not seem to be entirely in his brain at the moment. John wondered how much it took for Sherlock to do so, to stop his transport.

“John,” Sherlock murmured, watching John closely. “May I kiss you?”

John immediately lost his next intake of breath. “ _ Yeah,”  _ he nodded vigorously. 

Sherlock broke the little distance between them, lips mashing together in a way that was more chaste until the kiss deepened to sucking and teeth and tongue. Sherlock ended up on his knees with John over him, hands cupping the raven haired man’s face. 

“ _ Fuck,”  _ John groaned into the kiss, pulling the man up and into his lap, beginning to work the buttons of the man’s shirt down. 

“You’re a top,” Sherlock observed as John finished off the last of the buttons, mouth kissing wherever he could on Sherlock’s neck.

“I thought that was you, Mr. Control,” John joked as he pushed the shirt off of his shoulders and tossed it onto the floor.

“John, control is  _ boring  _ to me. I work the way my brain works and if people can’t keep up with that, then it there’s no need to worry or exercise control because it’s a waste of time. You, on the other hand,  _ Captain _ , have plenty of reasons to exercise control. To tell someone what to do. Tell them where to go,” John noted with the last statements, Sherlock voice dropped to an impossible octave as those eyes darkened.

John did his own deducing. “You like that though.”

An excited look rippled through Sherlock’s eyes as he was figured out. “And what are your deductions to answer that?”

“Well,” John smiled, pursing his lips as he propped up his head on his hand. “I learned earlier from an old mate of mine that the heavy rising and falling of the chest and dilated pupils are very good tells of someone who’s aroused.”

Sherlock smirked. “Good mate,”

“The best.” John answered softly, cupping Sherlock's face, which the man leaned into. “But, you do like it. Brilliant, beautiful man.” Sherlock shivered at the endearments, eyes unnaturally wide, vulnerable. John decided he would take care of him. “Kiss me.” An order, which Sherlock fulfilled by diving in, wrapping John in a lock of his arms, not starting gently like John did, but deeply, molding, using his tongue to run along John’s, eliciting groans from both men. 

John pulled at Sherlock’s nipples, running his thumbs along the areoles, feeling them peak, watching infatuatedly as Sherlock threw his head back, Adam’s apple bobbing as he moaned. John launched in to suck bruises on Sherlock’s ivory skin, a deep wave of arousal rushing through him at the thought of seeing the marks the next day, thinking of Sherlock wrapping that scarf around his neck to cover them so that only they knew.

“ _ John. _ ” Sherlock whimpered under his ministrations. “Oh  _ fuck,  _ John.” It took John a moment to realise that Sherlock was grinding his cock down desperately against John’s thigh. 

“Did I tell you that you could get yourself off?” John asked, lowly, sharply—which made Sherlock’s hips come to an immediate halt, eliciting another whimper. John pulled off of Sherlock’s neck to look at the man and what he found made a need spread through John’s body with a strength that overwhelmed him.

Sherlock’s eyes were unfocused, glassy, lips wet, parted, and panting, dilated eyes gazing back at John waiting for his next order. John had never seen him like this—always in control, always the smartest in the room—he’d given his power over to John,  _ trusted  _ John.

But John was also going to let it be known that Sherlock was entirely  _ his. _

“What is it you want, Sherlock?” John inquired, threading his fingers through the man’s hair, pulling gently, watching how Sherlock’s eyes slipped back towards his head, fluttering with each pull. The man was so sensitive, very responsive to touch. John wondered how long it had been since he had anyone.

“I-I….” he trailed off, blinking and wetting his lips again. A moment passed and John patiently waited until Sherlock said, “ _ Captain. _ ”

John felt his nostrils flair at the direct title Sherlock was giving him, between them. 

“On your knees,” John immediately ordered and Sherlock scrambled to fulfill. He looked up at John, eyes hooded as he watched John unbutton his shirt, dragging it and the jumper off, tossing it onto the floor next to Sherlock’s strewn shirt. “You’re gorgeous,” John told Sherlock as he cupped his face. Sherlock leaned into his touch.

“John, you are the most beautiful man I have ever had the pleasure of being in the presence of.” His hand rose, with precaution, towards John’s shoulder, which John acceded with a nod. 

Chilled fingers touched his scar, making John shiver. Having someone’s hands there felt unnatural, but knowing it was Sherlock’s calmed him down. Sherlock suddenly surged up to kiss over the scar, holding the kiss until John wrapped his arm around Sherlock and splayed his fingers over his head.

“It’s okay, love,”

Sherlock suddenly looked up at him from the endearment and pressed his lips to John—once, twice, a third time, and the fourth, grew deeper with the men changing angles. If anyone could see them, they looked like their lips were at war, like they were trying to see who could deepen it more, who could follow whom. 

But with John’s hand still wrapped in Sherlock’s hair, he used it to slightly pull the man back, meeting those unfocused eyes again. He was taken aback by the effect he seemed to have over Sherlock since the man had played it off so well in the past couple days. Sherlock licked his lips, waited.

“Take my trousers off, Sherl,” he whispered. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered, but he did his task, going to unbutton his trousers, pull the zip down and helped John to pull them down after John lifted to pull them past his arse, then they were on the floor.

John could see Sherlock taking in the outline through his briefs, watched him swallow. 

“Someone’s a bit of a slag,” Sherlock noted in a murmur that was not supposed to be cruel or judgmental.

John smirked, knowing. “Why d’you say that?” Wanting to hear Sherlock deduce in this state.

“Thick _ , very thick _ , but also long. Spreads,  _ fills… _ ” Sherlock drew in a shaky breath at that, like he could see it. He saw John’s cock twitch and, suddenly, the consulting detective was back: Sherlock had his own conclusions, but continued. “I’m sure it’s popular with the female form and sometimes the army can be a bit dubious on its inner actions, so perhaps with men, too. Judging by how you did fall into this with me, I’d say you’ve had at least one other male lover, but he was the one in charge.”

John’s smirk widened. “What makes you say that?” He was playing into the game and Sherlock knew all too well.

“You’re taking control, still being gentle—knowing how to treat a man intimately does not come from a woman. If you hadn’t been with one, you’d be clumsy, anxious, unsure...but you...are  _ very _ sure, took control with no qualms. Women, I’m sure are fans of that... _ piece _ , but there’s something about men...your top was versatile. So you learned the gentleness a dom has to bring, but also the vulnerability of a sub. You’ve been on both spectrums, you’ve experimented, even if it was also with women. 

“There’s another reason you didn’t want to be invalided—not only the war, but the things you were doing when the sun went down—you felt like you’d lost everything, even someone wanting you. You did ask  _ who would want you  _ for a flat mate, odd wording. Even when I left to Lauriston Garden and came back—there was an entirely different energy you had from feeling unwanted, alone, perhaps incapable—to dark, aroused, ready. Yet, even when you do feel unwanted, you’re able to hold your strength—something taught and well learned. But it stays in the back of your mind and comes out in certain interactions, specifically with women, which turns out to be more sexually driven, whereas, men receive more time, more touch. Women have been holes to fill, so you’ve had plenty, yet two men so far. It’s the societal norm, heteronormativity, but it doesn’t mean it’s what you prefer. It’s quick, with women. You like quick until you like slow, usually with men. You like the male form, the male voice, the firm touch, the  _ cock _ . Women aren’t your area, either, John Watson.”

John found himself with a dropped jaw and a leaking cock, earlier amusement fizzled out into a fascinated arousal. 

“Miss anything?” Sherlock inquired as he sat back onto his haunches to run his hands up and down John’s thighs.

“And what about you?” John inquired, having his own conclusions.

Sherlock smirked darkly. “Have at it, Watson.”

John shucked his nerves and dove into everything he’d noticed. “Someone hurt you when you were younger, so you prefer to be alone. I’ve seen the way some people react to you, not to mention, when you said people tell you to piss off when you give your deductions, you’ve had more than a fair share of rejection, which has caused you to represent a cold facade, which we both know is not true. But someone has manipulated that, manipulated your preference, perhaps by coming off as one thing and turning out to be another—which goes hand in hand as to why you care about consulting, even if you say you don’t. In a way, you want to help people, but you also want them far away in case they ever think of hurting you. But. You wouldn’t have wanted to show that vulnerability, so you must have focused on your mind—so I’d say this happened maybe during high school or university, but it changed you so much you decided to ignore your heart and focus on molding your brain to never make the same mistakes again.”

Sherlock gazed at him for a long time, eyes flitting all over John’s face like he didn’t know what else to say. John did notice, however, Sherlock was practically panting. Slowly, John leaned in and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s cheek.

“How was that?” He whispered in his ear.

“Spotless.” Was Sherlock’s only answer as John pulled away. They stopped a couple inches apart to take each other in, then they were back on each other, lips locking into a firm kiss that had both men eliciting sounds that seemed to reverberate off of the walls. 

“I need you to stand up, love,” John groaned out and they parted lips for a moment to get everything else off and left on the floor all of their clothes until they were just bare and all over each other. 

They were lost in each other, John pulling Sherlock’s hips down to touch their cocks together, to grind. Sherlock mewled at the first grind, head thrown back as he began to throw his hips forward against John’s, meeting him thrust for thrust.

John’s hands came up to cup Sherlock’s face, to get him to focus a little, but Sherlock was already pretty far gone.

“How long’s it been?” John inquired, a little possessively.

“Years, John,  _ years.”  _ Was Sherlock’s only answer before his lips were captured again. 

Both men had acquired enough precome to make their situation slick, creating a heavy pressure against the other to really  _ feel  _ it, to feel the sparks of pleasure shooting through several different nerves that had John acting a little rougher. Those same hands on Sherlock’s face had gone to one hand wrapped in those raven curls to the other gripping his under his jaw as they kissed where Sherlock’s hands had gone to cup John’s face.

All too soon, John wanted to change locations and told Sherlock to go to his bedroom.

Sherlock’s eyes opened, lips stopping against John’s before nodding and pulling himself off of John’s lap to start towards his room. John followed, watching the man’s curvaceous backside— _ perfect— _ leading down to long legs that could belong to a dancer and up to a smooth back kissed with freckles. His cock was thinner than John’s but nearly just as long as his, which suit John just fine. With Sherlock, anything would have suited, but the man was perfection incarnate in his own way. 

John closed Sherlock’s door behind them whilst Sherlock took to sitting on the bed, gazing at John with a heavy silence as he closely watched him. 

“Do you touch yourself often, Sherlock?” John inquired softly as he approached the man who unconsciously spread his legs as John reached him. John felt his eyes hood over at the response, trying to keep his wits about him for a little while longer before he gave them what they wanted.

“I…” Sherlock trailed off and John ran his thumb along the man’s sharp cheekbone as his fingers cupped under Sherlock’s chin, to tilt his head up. “For necessary purposes.”

John smirked. “So as to not distract your mind from how much the body craves?”

Sherlock shivered. “Precisely.”

In that moment, John decided he wanted to get Sherlock to the point where he couldn’t respond like that, like his normal, in control, consulting self when he was so obviously turned on. He wanted to see that next layer of Sherlock, to see him lose control. 

“Where’s your lube?” John inquired, much to Sherlock’s shock, blinking rapidly with his jaw dropped.

“Left pillow,” Sherlock acceded and John modded, but he didn’t go for it yet.

“Do you want me inside of you?” John asked, softly, enticingly which Sherlock gave a wide eyed nod to. “I need your words, love.”

“ _ Yes _ .” Sherlock breathed. 

“Bend over, hand me the tube. Please.”

Sherlock scrambled to fulfill John’s orders, snatching the tube from underneath his pillow, handing it back to John who took it with a  _ thank you  _ and a readjustment to Sherlock’s position, pressing his palm down onto the middle of Sherlock’s back so that he’d curve his back more, lifting his arse in the air.

John wet his fingers, spread a line over Sherlock’s hole, eliciting a shiver from the man below him. 

“Okay?” John inquired as he rubbed circles around his skin, effectively lubing the area, playing with dipping the tip of his finger in, every other pass as he watched Sherlock’s body visibly relax.

“Yes,” Sherlock breathed as he rested his head onto his forearms, peeking back at John.

“Yeah?” John inquired softly, his free hand going to run his hand down Sherlock’s back, up towards the nape of his neck where he wrapped his fingers into those curls, pulling the tresses as he began to sink his index finger into the man, watching as his fingers elicited a sharp inhale which released as a shaky exhale whilst Sherlock’s eyes fluttered closed. John leaned forward, pressing a kiss against Sherlock’s left arse cheek as he began to experimentally pump his finger.

He could feel Sherlock’s walls already fluttering around his finger, striking John into a fascinated silence as he began to stretch him, stroking, as he watched Sherlock’s closed eyes, parted lips, and furrowed brow. Every now and then, he’d release a sharp breath or a low groan which he usually deposited into the pillow below him.

“Don’t hold your sounds back,” John ordered lowly as he watched Sherlock turn his head into the pillow for the fourth time. “You don’t have to do that with me.”  _ That  _ earned John a ripple from Sherlock’s back, like his body had caved in on itself, but immediately remembered he had to hold up an arch as he released this whimper produced straight from the back of his throat, throwing John off only a little with how utterly sexy, yet vulnerable it was.

He used his hand to scratch soothing patterns into Sherlock’s back, playing with his curls every now and then as he began to tease around Sherlock’s prostate, attempting to add his middle finger, which Sherlock’s hole swallowed right up with little help from a dollop of extra lube. Sherlock began to throw his hips back onto John’s fingers, moaning harshly as John directed his attack on Sherlock’s prostate, now using his free hand to drag down in between the two of them to softly pull Sherlock’s bollocks, eliciting the most delicious sound John had ever had the pleasure of hearing.

It was a low pitched whine, something punched from the pit of Sherlock’s stomach, but the fascinating part was that Sherlock’s hips didn’t stop, even as John held such a sensitive part of Sherlock in his hand: they were heavy, full, but it was like he was pumping them in John’s palm.

“God, you really want it don’t you, Sherlock?” John rasped as he began to slightly twist Sherlock’s bollocks as he continued the pumping motion, matching his fingers, the wet, velvet heat squeezing and pulling around his fingers. 

Sherlock grunted in response, eyes landing unfocused on John’s. John was drunk on feeling, wondering how he’d fare when Sherlock was wrapped around his cock, unable to steal his gaze away from Sherlock’s. 

Fascinatedly, John added a third finger—that one was sucked right in, but Sherlock could tell the difference in stretch and released a sharp gasp, falling forward. John found himself chuckling, brushing his fingers through Sherlock’s curls. “Wait til you feel my cock,” he murmured, dipping down to kiss the dimples Sherlock had on his back as the man rose back up onto shaky arms.

In fact, now that John was over him, he could feel the man’s entire body was shaky; he was still trying to catch his breath. John began to slow the pumping motion of his fingers burying them slowly and deeply into Sherlock‘s slick hole, free hand going up to stroke Sherlock’s cock with slow motions that had Sherlock trying to thrust down into his hand. Any time he did, John would tighten his hand, to prevent the man from going any further. But the man was stubborn and sometimes he’d try to thrust anyway, managing to part John’s hands enough to squeeze through, whimpering at the feeling against his oversensitised cock, choking out moans.

John found himself growling into Sherlock's back, feeling the man twitch in reaction. “So fucking good, love,” John rasped, pressing another kiss into Sherlock’s skin. “I can tell it’s going to be  _ so fucking good _ .”

“ _ John… _ ” Was all Sherlock said, peeking over his arms to look back at John, tilting his hips up against John’s head to get his attention. When he had it, Sherlock said, “Please, now.”

Every ounce of blood John had in his brain rushed straight to his cock and every thought about how gentle he needed to be pretty much went out the door, save for the first entry—he’d need to let Sherlock adjust. After that, it was over for him.

John grabbed the lube, slicked up his cock, and gently wedged himself into Sherlock, slowly, slowly, gently, piece by piece, adjusting the angle, until John was completely buried inside Sherlock and Sherlock himself was panting from the girth, walls pulsing around John’s now sensitive cock. He was so ready to come, he could practically feel his orgasm on the horizon. 

He wanted Sherlock to come first, wanted to see it before he lost himself in the man. Sherlock wanted to experience a euphoria out of this plane; he was already trying to slide back up John’s cock to feel his length slide into him all over again. 

John was feeling a little overwhelmed that this was actually happening. Strange timing, but it was hitting him: this moment was perfect and he never used the word. He could stay here forever with Sherlock and that overwhelmed him the most—what had Sherlock done to him? 

Absolutely nothing, intentionally. Everything, accidentally. John’s mouth was agape as he watched the pure carnal actions of the man beneath him, the way he insistently slammed back to take John’s cock, taking his own pleasure because he’d earned it during their actions. He hadn’t quite expected Sherlock to be so receptive to their earlier actions where he named John captain, but it seemed that Sherlock would be the type of sub who was a mix between subservient and greedy. It was perfect.

John wanted him to  _ take  _ what was his, to be greedy. Sherlock was releasing the most beautiful, guttural sounds where John found himself at Sherlock’s ear, pressing the man flat on his stomach where he continuously pounded into him, fingers interlaced above their heads.

“I was right, wasn’t I, Sherlock? Fucking perfect. I can feel your arse squeezing around me—you want it so bad, don’t you? Take it. Just like that.” With each passing word, Sherlock slammed back harder, the sound of their skin slapping was overwhelming, making John falter.

He gently pulled out and flipped Sherlock onto his back, gazing down into those cloudy verdigris eyes that were suddenly sharp, wondering what was changing. John wasn’t gone for long, propping Sherlock’s legs up on his sides before lining himself up, sinking back into that wet heat.

Seeing Sherlock like this would be his undoing, his head thrown back, eyes rolled into the back of his head, lips parted to release those breathtaking sounds as John pumped his cock into him—he now paid special attention to his prostate, angling his thrusts to hit it with each pass—which had Sherlock’s thighs trembling and trying to lock John in place, squeezing in a death grip.

John pulled Sherlock down by his chin so their lips could meet again, pulling Sherlock’s bottom lip with his teeth before diving back in again to battle their tongues for dominance. Sherlock immediately yielded, a long drawn out moan escaping him which hitched up in pitch with every hard thrust John had to give, making John’s eyes roll up towards his head at the immense pleasure he was feeling being inside Sherlock, feeling his walls spread with each pass, trying to squeeze around him when he pulled back out to start again.

“ _ Fuck,”  _ was all John could muster, feeling his bollocks begin to pulse in that tell-tale sign.

He fucked harder, speeding his hips up, hands finding Sherlock’s thighs which he spread and simultaneously used for leverage as he pounded deeply into him, watching Sherlock scramble at the sudden, hard angle, which had his back arching as his cock spurted come up to his nipples, releasing a harsh shiver with each spurt. The sight had John groaning low in his throat as his cock pulsed one last time and released copious amounts into Sherlock’s body, leaving him feeling boneless as they embraced.

Sherlock inhumanly gentle, fingertips caressing John’s skin, over his wound. John was still catching his breath when Sherlock asked, “What is this?”

John paused at the question, but believing he understood the meaning, said, “We’re already partners—thought we’d make it more official.” Then he looked up to find Sherlock smirking, chest shaking from unreleased laughing.

“Good idea.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed and if you want to chat me up on my tumblr, here it goes:
> 
> https://consulting-writer.tumblr.com/
> 
> Let me know what you liked the most, I love feedback ❤️
> 
> Have a lovely day!


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